Oct 082016
 

The thoughts in my head muddled up and I sounded like an episode of Gilmore Girls where everything makes sense if you listen, I mean really listen, but that type of thought easily can come across as manic -even when it’s not. It’s just that -thoughts. They need a way to escape sometimes and that means typing 100 words a minute or speaking so fast that my words are muddled together and I am rewriting the dictionary as they flow from my tongue jumbled and broken like my tongue has been possessed by the infamous Dr Seuss.

It’s like my desk. To anyone who is told to find something on my desk they would likely stand there staring in a near panic unwilling to touch anything, yet I can navigate it with my eyes closed, a chat window or two open, the phone ringing and telling the animals to be quiet so I can hear.

What appears to be a muddled mess is often an organized truth. Perhaps this is why there are Bible versions now that are written chronologically, so they make sense to the people whose brains need the timeline and the order that escapes them the way a cleared surface paralyzes me leaving me wondering what to do.


I tend to have a lot to say and the reason is because I don’t want to think. Thinking brings back flashes of pain and transports me back to a place where a simple word hurts or Job can be read as a suicide letter. Being in my head is hard work, even for the thoughts. So instead they spew out of me like the possessed girl from The Exorcist with her head on backwards, levitating while spewing shades of evil from her mouth.

I don’t want to be a shade of evil.

I often fear that I am.

And, that’s when the thoughts get muddled. When I am asked to go to bed because I don’t feel well or I am extra tired and the past has snuck in and I ask “am I being punished?” or utter the words “but I wasn’t being bad.”

No, sweet child, you weren’t bad, you are tired. 11 years since escaping and the thoughts still blend together and I get trapped in an inbetween that most can’t comprehend. The words “get over it” are hell to the ears and sting harder than any whip could, causing the holes in my soul to gape open and spill out of me, like a gutted deer during hunting season, and I pray that I am not the prey while secretly feeling like I am always the one in the crosshairs.

I crave the gentle caress of being lain down on fresh sheets, with eyes half closed and blankets pulled up over me tightly. The kiss to my forehead being all I need to know I am loved, safe and that tomorrow will be alright. Because, even when tomorrow is horrible it becomes yesterday fast…

Aug 112016
 

I take a deep breath and point my bottom up in the air wondering how attractive THAT has to be and sorta laugh to myself how awkward yoga can look and how good it can feel. Even though I am not feeling well I decided to hit the mat and sweat it out and lift up my spiritual energy, centering it, refocusing it on the one who created me in the very beginning and saw that I was good.


It has been easy to be down over the last few months. I have felt a ton of pressure in the little things and a lot of slippery serpent heads slithering their ways into my thoughts and creating anxiety and fear, and a lack of trust. In the last session of Hello Mornings, which I have loved for years and even lead a group with Jen from Faith Mustard Seed in for several sessions. This intimate group of people I thought I could trust and ask for prayer in were the ones I went to when I found out my cousin had another baby born asleep. Before anyone had even commented or offered prayers in the private group I was being tweeted about it and my faith in a female lead church community collapsed -hard.

At the same time I had just finished a course in ministry and had received grades high enough to earn me a scholarship. I haven’t logged back into the site since to see what I would like to take, I haven’t even requested a copy of my transcript or diploma for the first course.


Women are supposed to be building each other up, for ever we have helped one another -raise babies, pray, stay strong in faith, cook meals for other families and even offered to help cook or clean for our female friends and acquaintances when they needed it the most.

We are supposed to be lifting each other up and instead this crazy world of social media, on every platform, has become a game of trying to be better or look better or take better photos or eat better foods or pray better. A game of my way is better than your way and the most beautiful of people from Facebook to Twitter to Youtube have worked hard to cut those life giving umbilical cords to the One who always loves and always pulls us up by showing us their ugly sides.

 

It is hard to not be pulled down when in the back ground they are spreading rumors, exposing your private moments and your broken-hard is exposed for the entire world to see.


I am having to remind myself daily as I check in with my soul that my faith in Christ has not changed, but my faith in humanity is definitely in question. It is so much easier to slam the laptop closed and keep it all inside, locked away inside the confines of my mind, but like the Queen song says “I want to break free” and in order to be healthy, I need to.

I am definitely on the defensive, my stress levels high and every one who I was trusting as my “church” community whether in real life or online has fallen into this line of wonderment where my PTSD is triggered and I have to ask myself “can I trust you?”

As I raise my hands up and breath in deeply and lift my heart I know that I am being held by God. And that is all that really matters.

Jul 182016
 

I had no date this weekend, meaning, me and my boy didn’t go out together. He did go and play tennis with his uncle though. I have never seen two peas in a pod until I see those two. They read the same books, play the same games, fight over the broccoli, love the same sports and even wear their hair the same -shaved. The only real difference is about 16 years. It is nice that my little man gets to have man time with someone who pushes him and encourages him, even when they both come home starving and sweaty.


My back pain has been brutal this past month. I don’t know what’s going on with my body. Pain meds aren’t touching the pain much, just making me feel semi-stoned, and the feedback on that from family is “you are seriously annoying” and “can you please talk slower?” I have no desire to go to the doctor or wait on new tests or to try new meds… I feel so over all of this, throwing in the towel really feels like the best option right now. Just saying screw it to my body and continuing to try and be active on days I can be, take care of myself the way I have been and taking my supplements.

I started an old antidepressant again. I quit it back in February but with my emotions being so whacked and my pain being so crazy we decided to try it again, since it not only helps with the insanity but is also proven to be helpful with some types of pain. The parts that suck though is that it is another medication. I take sooo many pills every day not including my supplements or pain killers and it’s just frustrating. I want to be off of my meds so I can get pregnant and not worry about hurting a baby, or travel without worrying about refills, or worrying about whether or not I should be driving. I miss normalcy, though, I don’t think I have ever actually had normal. I have always had pain, starting when I was about 12 and I have struggled with my mental health since I was raped when I was 12, though, I never began medications until I had post partum depression and then really started meds when I was diagnosed with PTSD after escaping a severely insane relationship.

Jul 122016
 

I stood there, without a towel, naked, my long hair dripping at top speed town onto the dirty towel on the floor, it quickly becoming soaked as I tried to figure out what the hell just happened. My skin burning, everywhere, because of the extremely rapid and aggressive scrubbing of the brush against my skin as panic overtook me further and I was trying to scrub off the nastiness I felt all over me, running down the drain.

Only, the scrubbing didn’t get rid of the yuck my body feels. I looked down and saw blood pouring down and wondered when I cut myself. I stumbled backwards and almost fell as I looked at my wrists to see what the damage was, I blinked and blinked again as I looked at myself only to realize that the water was running clear and there was no blood, “just” a flashback flooding me, reminding me of a time not so long ago.

I had nothing to wear except the pj top I had stripped off and everyone was already in bed so I couldn’t call out for a fresh towel or clothes. I looked at myself, naked, in the fogged over mirror and still felt dirty, I reached for my Faceshop aloe cleanser and my Clarisonic and scrubbed my face, I didn’t think I did it too rough until I was rinsed and applied the moisturizer. I didn’t know a 90 dollar moisturizer could sting so bad and I didn’t know the sting my body was feeling was exactly what I needed to snap back into reality.

I wrapped a half dozen elastics around my sopping hair and tossed on the dirty pj top and shut the hot water off. My heart was still pounding, it still is, but the panic seemed to have left me, I was back in reality and doing my best to dry a semi-soaked bathroom with a washcloth. I did my best, it wasn’t much, but at least I feel semi in control again.

The stairs, 12 of them. I counted 12. I usually count by 6 and when I got to the bottom I noticed that I had went all the way to 12 but I couldn’t go back up and start again. There was hair dripping and needing help and…

Maybe the panic attack isn’t over…

Jul 112016
 

I feel like I am being crushed by the world. My heart is broken. My soul a shadow that doesn’t want to be caught, possibly the only part of me that has escaped bondage and is truly free. I will never find a way to heal my soul or a Wendy to stitch it on.

I cry tears that only a dark angel dares to see, to wipe from salt stained cheeks. And I look to the sky and wonder if God is looking down at the broken mess of me. The unspoken broken a fiery light ablaze while I’m on scraped knees.

No one physical to pull me from the wreck, to rescue me from a tainted reverie. To cup my chin and stop the river of tears flowing from my eyes. To wrap their arms around me, hold me, bring me to life.

I want to walk from the shore into the waters deep. Feel the cold touch me, the sandy bottom moving between my toes, my hair floating along the waters top like a weed let go. I want to exhale deep and sit below the surface while my lungs scream for air that isn’t there.

Look out across the gently stirred water and see legs and feet and faces splashing and playing as I inhale deep below. I want the pain of the rush filling my lungs. To stare up at the sun dancing in a billion fragments across the waters top while what’s left of life slips further and further away.

I am alone.

I am tired.

I am running low on tears and high on fears.

I am broken.

Alone.

Undone.

Maybe someone will reach in deep and grasp my soul, breathe it back to life in a way I can’t. There is a resemblance of hope -that I will wake from this dream. But, you know what they say about hope… It breeds eternal misery. I would hate to have to be eternally miserable when I am perpetually miserable here and running towards every sign with the word “exit” shining red against white.

I am far from fine again. I suspect that even that nonchalance is too hard to grip longer than the fake smile when asked how I am doing. Oh, man, do you really want the truth? Didn’t think so.

I just want to be alone in my own thoughts, the prison that I have created and yet I don’t want to be alone at all because those bars don’t just keep me from getting out, they keep others from getting in. A comfort that covers body, not the roaming soul.

Life isn’t a gentle zigzag like a feather makes when it falls from the sky. It’s choppy, unpredictable, painful and a road I am tired of travelling.

So tired…

Jul 072016
 

They are just trying to build their lives, build their family, have children together alongside the ones that she brought into the relationship all those years ago. And while we aren’t close, at all, maybe seen each other a half dozen times since we were little kids playing cops and robbers with toy handcuffs, my heart is still broken for him, my cousin, yet again. He has had a rough few years.

He was in a plane crash that he narrowly survived a few years back, on that day I was complaining to my mom that everything smelled like fuel, she said I was crazy until the email came saying his plane had went down and that an old boyfriend of my aunts, from 30 years ago, had saw the rainbow on a small lake of fuel and being the nosey man he is he swooped down to get a closer look only to see part of a pontoon sticking out of the water with a body on it, my cousins body. The family friend, Jake, was in a plane too large to land and my aunt and uncle were on the radio trying to find their son when Jake called for someone with a small plane for help. Some American tourists with a small plane were able to make the landing in that tiny remote lake and help my cousin off that pontoon into their plane and back into the sky to meet the ambulance at the docks. His neck was broken, his thumbs nearly amputated from trying to pull the plane up when he crashed and chemical burns from him laying partly in the water with all that fuel and oil pouring out and burning his flesh away. Praise God his neck was able to be fixed and he didn’t suffer any paralysis or anything like that. A lot of healing though and it’s been probably five years and he still hasn’t got his pilots licence back, his thumbs have been the biggest problem.

Since then he has went on and continued with the woman who stood by him during all of that healing, and all the years before that, and they had a baby girl, named Aurora. Only, Aurora was born directly into the hands of God. They were trying to build a family and God is building Himself an army of angels. It was close to the due date for little Aurora when the placenta broke free and before they could get to a hospital the baby had passed and the mama almost did too.


Now its been a few more years since that happened and I had a vivid dream about a caesarean going very wrong. When I went to tell my mom about the dream she was reading an email saying Aurora’s little sister was also in Heaven. I didn’t even know they were expecting another baby, I guess when you have experienced the pain of losing one you might want to be hushed about another just in case. They had a scheduled c-section planned and their little girl whose name I don’t know, was moving fine and had no reason for concern, but when they arrived for their c-section they couldn’t find a heartbeat. They did an emergency delivery and couldn’t revive the baby. And another little soul was born right into the arms of God.

My cousin though? In his building a family and a career as a pilot and all of that feels like the world just keeps knocking him out of the sky and while I sit here and cry over a baby I didn’t even know existed until the other day when she was already gone he is struggling with drinking and drugs and finding any way he can to dull the pain of living, and living comes with a lot of pain.


And somehow my vivid dreams have always mimicked life. I have been accused of killing because I dreamed it, the first time at the age of 9 when my cousin took his life in our back yard, found splayed after three days missing, at the bottom of a cliff. I was blamed because I had said he was going to die about 3 months earlier when he had crashed a truck after my great uncles funeral, and that blame has never left me.

So when my cousin crashed his plane and I was being haunted by the odor of fuel and couldn’t figure out why until I got the news I felt like had I not smelled that smell that he would still be flying.

My dream the other afternoon during a nap about a caesarean gone wrong left me feeling like if I hadn’t fallen asleep, she would have been born safe and healthy and alive.

My sanity is lost and I have no clue where to search, and I don’t think I want to, because like I said, life hurts, especially when you blame yourself for things out of your control based solely on the fact that someone decided to place the blame on you when you were a child instead of accepting responsibility for their own child.

I have been a mess, I am a mess. I don’t know if I am coming or going and I have pulled into myself, far in because exposing the flesh wounds leaves me open to judgement and battle scars and frankly, I don’t have enough unscarred flesh left to successfully go to battle again.

So maybe I am throwing in the towel, or maybe it’s like the Mr. says and that I am not the cause of the problems, I just feel them and see them in a way that most people can’t. It’s hard to say, but I don’t know if I want to risk it. I don’t know if I want to get close to anyone or anything if all that I am going to experience is a painful hurt and a loss.

You see, you can build up walls instead of bridges to peace and you can be isolated and alone or you can build that bridge and put yourself in the cross hairs of the man with a fully automatic weapon. Maybe Trump is right with his wall. Maybe isolation is the best way to protect yourself, your body, your soul, your heart. Maybe if we all place that figurative wall around us the billions of emotions flying through the air won’t hit so hard, or at all. Maybe they will bounce off my imaginative force-field and leave me alone.

Alone with my thoughts, my anger, my depression, my sadness and hurt. Alone to wonder and hope and to pray and to hide. Alone to not love because if I embrace the olive branch then I am guaranteed that new pain will eventually follow.

Maybe some of us should be alone, because loneliness is what’s best for everyone.

Apr 052016
 

The slithering serpents forked tongue’s lies echoes in my head and my heart breaks and my body bleeds and hate boils to the surface and I learn myself in ways I thought were long forgotten, but apparently forgotten not long enough.

The soaked through bandages line the trash can and a fresh one covers the sliced up lines on broken flesh and for now, I have no regrets.

In fact, I haven’t felt much of anything and maybe I should be concerned that I don’t but instead I am trapped in this euphoria that I had forgot even existed.

The sky spewing snow onto the spring’s earthy scented ground and I know the weather is just as lost and confused as I am, and somehow I am okay with the white blanket laying itself down because the down that covers me will be peeled away come morning and there will spring forward new life.

The only memories of days like yesterday and today will be in the forms of scars that I can no longer even count. Takes 56 days for the blood to come back, 56 days before I am once again working on full. Whatever that means.

I am feeling overly lost in a world where I don’t want to be found, and yet somewhere deep inside I know my stripes have already been healed by the ones that Christ bore on the cross so that I could be saved.

I don’t have to worry what happened today or yesterday or what will happen tomorrow because He has a plan greater than we can see. Yeah so I don’t know why or how or what for but I know that he knows and that is comforting enough for me to rest my head and sleep.

So sleep I will.

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